Caressing Rain
by Happiness's Deceit
Summary: The black rain would never stop, but Sasuke would never seek shelter.  For Naruto could only find him if he waited there.


Naruto does not belong to me, but to its respective publishers and creators. I only own the fanfiction below.

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Caressing Rain

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It's been raining for a long time.

The rain is thick, and dark, and sometimes he cannot breathe in its darkness; silver tears of the skies that pierce his black heart. It is only the rain that touches him—for he has been alone for a long, long, time. Sometimes it burns him, the coolness of that black rain, working like acid through his prone body.

Sometimes it makes him remember someone…

Someone he thinks he should have known for a long time.

Blue.

A vibrant, beautiful Blue that holds him in place.

"_Are you there?"_

He reaches, grasping for the color that is so _warm_—and for a moment, he feels that there is _something_…

And then it disappears.

Fleeting Blue that seems to call to him, Blue he can't seem to name. A Blue that he cannot call a color because… it burns him to his core. He knows that it is impossible for a color to do such a thing, but—

Even in his dreams it appears, pulling him towards something. But it pulls him back, and he needs to go forward, so instead he stays in place and hopes that something will come of it.

And he knows, now, that it must be a person, because _objects_ cannot touch, or maybe he is still dreaming and hurting and bleeding and…

"_Are you there?"_

He calls for the other, screaming, and the rain gets heavier. But his legs won't move, even if his mind is telling him to find shelter.

Because this is a blue that isn't what he is looking for—this rain is a black, a silver, a color that breaks him apart with its intensity. It shatters him with every drop, and yet he wants to be found here, where he cannot escape the heavy downpour.

He isn't sure if the Blue will ever come for him.

For there is blood on his hands, red that the colors can't remove—colors that he knew would never have existed if he had stayed with that Blue. He is tainted inside, and yearns for the purity that he once held.

But the Blue isn't here anymore…and it makes him very empty inside.

"_SASUKE!"_

The Blue is coming closer, and…

Is the Blue here?

He is reaching for the Blue, reaching but not touching. It would be wrong to touch. He can only look. Otherwise he will break the Blue, soil the blue. The Blue is pure, like he had been, but no longer.

Now—

Now, only the rain can touch his soiled, dirty hands. Blood can only touch the black that it belongs in.

His hands were seized, angrily, and he pulled away. The Blue is touching him, is not supposed to be touching him, is being tainted by the—

The blood, the _blood_, the **blood**, the BLOOD!!!!!!!!!!!

Don't, he wanted to protest, don't let the blood dirty the perfect Blue. Withdraw everything…don't let the Blue dirty itself on your black, disgusting soul. Don't let the Blue hurt, don't let the Blue get stained…don't touch the Blue. Don't let the Blue become stained by you!

Don't let him…touch…you…

The rain became deeper, darker, and he was enveloped in black.

The black made him suffocate, made him want to just…

Break.

Break.

Break.

_Break._

Don't let the Blue come closer, don't let the Blue appear.

Break yourself, he chanted, Break yourself.

Don't let him touch.

Only the rain can touch your dirty being. Only the unforgiving storms can cleanse the evil that envelopes him. Only the rain is enough to remain untainted.

But the Blue is touching him, Blue won't stop.

Blue, with warm hands and arms, is enveloping him a warm, warmness that he doesn't want to accept. He wants to push away, but his body doesn't seem to want to move.

Move, he commands still arms, move…

Don't let the Blue touch.

He'll only break the Blue, only make him hate… he doesn't want the Blue to hate, he doesn't—he can't let the Blue hate and so he struggles, wildly. Arms flail in all directions, just maybe, hoping that Blue will let go while he does all this.

And then Blue bleeds.

It is red, much like his blood, and the blood that covers your hands with its stickiness. It is red.

He watches the blood with a kind of sick fascination—does this mean that Blue, too, is like him?

It is strange, he thinks.

It can't be that, because the Blue is so clean, and he is so _dirty_, and why…why would anyone do such a thing? He calms, watching that red line fall, and watches as it drips into his own hands and meshes with the blood he has already spilt.

It mesmerizes him.

Because the blood no longer gathers, and he can clearly see where the blood had fallen. He stops struggling, watching that line as it stops bleeding, and reaches up and smears his own blood upon it. It is a sickly color, darker than the Blue's own, but it…fits, somehow.

He watches as the black rain washes his dirty blood away, and then redoes the line.

And again the line disappears.

And again.

And again.

His hands were grasped after the third time, instead cradled in the Blue's.

He wondered why their hands were such similar sizes. Is Blue his age? He relaxes his hand, spreading the fingers apart and intertwining them with the Blue's hands. It fits, without being rough, or angry, and…

Blue has calluses like his own, calluses that he gained when he was killing. Has Blue killed, too, he thinks, but then why is he not dirty?

He examines the hand in his own, drops it, and picks up the other.

This hand, too, is callused and rough, but gentler than he had expected, and he brings the hand to his nose, sniffing it once. It does not smell of blood.

And then, for the first time, he can hear thunder.

He has never heard thunder that accompanies the rain, and this thunder brings pain to his heart, and makes him wonder if, perhaps, the Blue is willing to be tainted in exchange for this peace?

So for the first time in a long while, he smiles, a small turning of the lips that could be imagined, and holds the hand close to his heart...

And a new rain starts where the black rain has stopped; one that is Blue and is warm and is gentle and maybe, this rain can finally wash the blood away. This rain comes from Blue and doesn't seem to stop.

So he leans up, his own arms finally moving, to encircle Blue and does not know why this feels so _right_.

"_Sasuke…"_

A name, one that seems so familiar…

"Na…ruto…"

And two eyes of that unfathomable color.

**Blue.**

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Caressing Rain

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This is an experiment of the third person point of view and a new formatting. Please comment if you have the time.


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